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The sound of footsteps on rubble broke the silence left in the wake of spilled blood.
From the edge of the chaos, Lex stepped into the center, golden mask in hand, and a smirk curved on his lips like a scythe waiting to fall.
"Welcome, honored guests," he said, his voice smooth, condescending—yet laced with something raw beneath.
Bruce's breath caught in his throat. His fists clenched.
Lex tilted his head as if savoring the moment. "Now that everyone's finally arrived…" He tossed the mask into the air and crushed it under his heel. "Let the madness begin."
As if on cue, the ground trembled underfoot. Sparks flared in the distance. Smoke curled upward like a veil rising for a performance long overdue.
Then came the call—low, deliberate.
"Shackled Dawn," Lex intoned, his voice sharp enough to split the air. "Assemble."
From the depths of the ruined hall emerged six figures, silhouettes taking shape one by one.
Ajax. Sinclair. Sato. Naoya. Hana. Kana.
They didn't need introductions—their presence said enough. They were killers, remnants of a legend that refused to die.
Lex clicked his tongue, amused. "You're all that remains? Tch… what a shame."
From the crowd of defenders, Takahashi stepped forward, eyes fierce.
"And what do you expect to achieve with those numbers?" he asked coldly.
Lex grinned, eyes twinkling with cruel excitement. "You speak as if numbers were the key. But you've forgotten—there are traitors among you."
The tension thickened like a noose tightening. Faces shifted. Unease spread.
Takahashi's voice cut through it.
"All units—grab your children. Move the heirs to safety. The patriarch and his right hand will remain with me."
Bruce blinked, caught off guard. "The patriarch is…?"
A gentle pat on his back snapped him from his daze. Narberal stood beside him, voice soft.
"He means you, Bruce."
The moment the words landed, a hundred eyes turned toward him. Not with suspicion—but with trust.
Expectation.
Faith.
Takahashi took a step back, nodding once.
"We of the Takahashi clan do not follow bloodlines. We follow strength. So show us, Bruce—are you the man who'll lead us forward?"
Bruce froze.
He could feel the weight of it—all of it—on his shoulders.
And then, without warning, another voice rose—stronger, deeper, without room for hesitation.
"Enough," Yamashiro said.
The field fell into silence again.
Yamashiro didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
His words were law.
"Okamoto. Hoshikawa. Takahashi. Kozuki—form the vanguard. We divide now."
He turned his eyes to each without pause.
"Takahashi. Take the tall one acting clever.
Kozuki. The two exchanged butlers are yours.
I'll handle Tokima myself.
Narberal—take care of the girls.
Okamoto. Secure the white-haired anomaly.
Hoshikawa. The children are under your protection."
He stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice dropping like the hammer of judgment.
"And as for the traitor… leave them to me."
Not a second passed before they all moved.
Blurs of motion. Blades drawn. Shields raised.
Orders carried like thunder and met with a storm of action.
Bruce stood there, heart pounding, as warriors surrounded him—men and women who had seen a hundred battles and still looked to him for direction.
He stared at his hands.
"I… couldn't do anything…"
But the time for hesitation had long passed.
The stage was set.
The true battle had just begun.
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